


Courting A Prince

by Setari



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse of Khuzdul, Courtship, Dwarf Courting, Elven healing, Gratuitous Endearments, Handwaving, Implied Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Implied Dwalin/Ori, Medical Inaccuracies, Multi, Oblivious Kíli, Polyamorous Dwarves, Polyamory, Serious Injuries, Supportive Thorin, TheDwarrowScholar's Neo-Khuzdul, Threesome, safe for Dáin fans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 16:33:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6914794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setari/pseuds/Setari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the Hobbit Kinkmeme prompt: "Plural marriages are a normal thing for Dwarves. An already established couple find themselves enamored with another member of the Company and set about courting them. Any pairings welcome except incest."</p><p>Bofur's always known that Nori has the best bad ideas. This is just the best bad idea of the lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Courting A Prince

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of things, quickly:  
> 1) If you hover over any khuzdul text, you should see a translation.  
> 2) I'm using 'dwarrow' as the plural of dwarf, even though everything I've read can't seem to agree whether the old plural that Tolkien would have preferred was 'dwarrow' or 'dwarrows'.

Looking out across the grand gardens of Rivendell, Bofur decided that for all that the place was _unbearably_ elvish, he was going to remember the place fondly when they left. It was not so much the place itself, but all that had happened here. He would always get a kick out of the memory of bathing naked in Elrond’s fountain – even now the thought made him chortle around the stem of his pipe – but the best part of that memory, and the real reason he thought he’d always have a soft spot for Rivendell, was the way Nori had been watching the youngest prince as he dunked his brother under the water.

Nori had had that glint in his eye like he’d seen something valuable hanging out of an idiot’s pocket. Like he’d had a terrible, awful, _bad_ idea, and was thrilled by the chance to play the game of avoiding the consequences. Like he _wanted_ , and knew he shouldn’t, and that only made him more determined to _have_ , even if it ended in disaster.

And Bofur had to admit, the young prince was mighty tempting. He wasn’t exactly what any dwarf would call _beautiful_ – too tall and too delicate by dwarven standards – but there was something about him, something about the sheer vivacity of him, that had caught Bofur’s eye, now that he was watching. He was cheerful and fearless and a little bit wild, loyal and innocent and painfully eager to please. Sometimes, Bofur thought with a little laugh, Nori really did have the best bad ideas.

“I dunno how ya can stay so bloody cheerful in this frilly place.”

The comment came accompanied by a lithe, small body dropping down to sit beside him on the too-tall bench overlooking the courtyard. Bofur grinned wider and leaned against his husband’s shoulder a little. “I take my joys where I can find ‘em, an’ there’s been a few good memories made here.” Bofur replied easily.

“One or two, I s’ppose.” Nori acknowledged, grudging and sly all at once.

Bofur laughed. “Hah! Tha’ too.”

“Too? I’m wounded, Bo!” Nori exclaimed, pressing a hand over his heart. “If ya weren’t finking about how we defiled a grand elven library, what _were_ ya finking of to put a grin like that on yer face?” He wondered.

Bofur slanted a look at Nori, raising a prompting, amused eyebrow that had the thief blinking at him in confusion and surprise. “Thinking ‘bout Kíli naked in the fountain.” He admitted, and enjoyed the way Nori’s eyes widened and his cheeks reddened immensely.

“Was I bein’ that obvious?” He asked awkwardly, eyes skittering away from Bofur.

“I don’t think anyone else noticed.” Bofur offered with a shrug. “I think you’d know if Dori or Thorin had. Ori might’ve, but I think he was a bit too busy goin’ diamond-eyed at Dwalin to notice you doin’ the same over the prince.”

Nori grumbled something insulting under his breath about Dwalin that made Bofur laugh loudly. There was a moment of silence as his mirth faded, before Nori shrugged, a little jerky with his nerves still. “I was gunna mention it to ya if we survived this madcap suicide mission.”

“Y’were?” Bofur asked.

Nori straightened, frowning. “O’course I was!”

Bofur waved him off. “I’m not askin’ if you were goin’ to mention it to me _at all_ , bâhazunshê, I’m not stupid. I know you wouldn’t keep it from me forever.” Nori relaxed all at once, and Bofur wished for a moment that his lover wasn’t always so wary of being thought the worst of. “I jus’ mean it’s not like you to want to wait, is all.” Nori snorted, and Bofur rolled his eyes. “Oh, sure, when you’ve got a _reason_ , you’re patient as the stones themselves, but I don’t get why you’re waitin’ now.”

Nori shrugged, casually nicking Bofur’s pipe and drawing in a long breath of the bittersweet smoke as his brow furrowed in thought. “Ya never pull two jobs at once. Ye’ve gotta keep ‘em separate, cause it’s hard to predict how they’ll affect each uver.”

Trust Nori to think of a relationship in terms of stealing and conning people. “I don’t think tha’ quite applies here, marlel.” He pointed out lightly. “Sure, maybe seducin’ the prince’ll affect our quest fer Erebor, an’ maybe the threat of dyin’ in dragonfire is making me a mite hasty, but everythin’ affects everythin’, an’ we’ve got time while we’re walkin’ all across Arda to maybe see if there’s a gem worth mining here.” He paused, wishing he still had his pipe for a moment. “I’d like to.” He finished, a little abruptly.

Nori blinked at him, then started to grin, looking at Bofur like he’d never seen him properly before. “How’d I not notice ye were falling arse over tit fer ‘im too?”

Bofur could feel himself flushing, but he grinned right back. “Maybe cause you were too busy fallin’ arse over tit for ‘im?” He suggested brightly. Nori burst out laughing. “An’ probably cause I only started payin’ more attention to ‘im after I noticed you doin’ the same. You didn’t notice me noticin’ you, either, did you?”

“No, I didn’t.” Nori acknowledged. They sat in silence for a while, passing the pipe between them and thinking over everything they’d talked about. “Have ya really thought about what it migh’ mean to court a prince, Bo?” Nori asked finally.

“Nah.” Bofur shrugged, and he could tell Nori was rolling his eyes, even if he couldn’t see his husband’s face at the moment. “But then, I haven’t really thought about what it might mean to have one whole fourteenth share of Erebor’s treasure, either. I can’t, cause whenever I do, all I see is a bloody great big dragon.”

“Ya make an excellent point, uthakmesem.” Nori acknowledged. “Figure it out when we get there?”

Bofur grinned, and leaned over to press a loud, smacking kiss to Nori’s cheek. “Figure it out when we get there.” He agreed, at which point Nori kissed him properly and words were abandoned for far more pleasurable pursuits for a while.

* * *

Kíli was confused. He really wasn’t sure what was going on, but he _was_ fairly certain it had started in Rivendell. That was when his ear cuff had gone missing. At first he’d put it down to his own absent-mindedness, but then, their first night out of Rivendell, he’d seen Nori wearing it. The thief had grinned when he’d noticed that Kíli had noticed, and then, when Kíli had been about to confront him about it, he’d _winked_ at Kíli and tossed him something that glittered in the firelight.

It turned out to be a small dagger, so thin Kíli wondered if it would be any use in a fight at all. Or maybe it was one of Ori’s knitting needles that Nori had repurposed. Except then he took a proper look at the hilt, and saw that there were distinctly elvish designs winding around it to aid his grip. It was something Nori had picked up in Rivendell, then. Which was lovely, and all, except Kíli wasn’t very good with knives, and he _still_ wanted his ear cuff back.

But when he looked up to question Nori, the thief had vanished.

Two nights later, he found a new pair of ear cuffs on sitting on his bedroll when he returned from taking a piss before bed. They were made of wood, which was odd enough, but the strangest thing was that they had clearly been made specifically for him. They had his personal mark on them, etched in tiny, painstaking detail, with the geometric designs around them artfully drawing attention to it. Above his personal symbol were the seven stars of Durin, marking his status as a Prince of Durin’s line.

He would have thought it was an apology gift from Nori, if he didn’t know that Nori, while skilled with knives in battle, could not carve wood to save his life. Perhaps Dori had taken it upon himself to apologise for Nori’s behaviour? Or perhaps Bofur? Both of them were skilled enough at whittling.

Then, after the disaster of the goblin caves and _Azog_ showing up, Bofur started… _hovering_. That was the best word Kíli could think of to describe it. He walked beside Kíli, cracking jokes and telling silly stories as they made their way down from the carrock, and in the evenings, while no one else seemed to manage even a moment of cheer, Bofur would sit beside him, whittling away and singing little ditties that were either hilarious, or hilariously dirty. At first, it was nice, because Kíli would admit that seeing his uncle so badly hurt – by their family’s nemesis, too – had shaken him. Every moment of cheer was a relief, not to mention Bofur really did have a nice singing voice.

By the time they reached Beorn’s, however, he was just confused. Confused and feeling a little patronised. He wasn’t so fragile that he needed babysitting, even after a scare like that. He might be the youngest member of the company, but he was a skilled archer and he could hold his own against Dwalin with sword, axe, and mace, too. To add insult to injury, once they had been welcomed into Beorn’s home, Nori offered to teach him to use the knife the thief had given him. As if he were a dwarfling who didn’t know how to wield a knife!

“I know how to use a knife!” Kíli had burst out, and Nori had jerked back in surprise. Something like regret had flashed across his face, and Kíli slipped out of indignation and right back into abject confusion when the thief chewed on his lip and frowned, as though trying to work out where he’d misstepped. Kíli realised abruptly that Ori must have learnt his puppy-eyes from Nori, and somehow, where Kíli found the expression kind of adorable on Ori, on Nori it was actually _devastating_. He’d mumbled out an apology for snapping, and accepted Nori’s offer, because what else was he supposed to do?

As it turned out, Kíli _hadn’t_ known how to use the knife Nori had given him. It wasn’t like the daggers Dwalin had taught him to use – the ones Fíli favoured – because it was too thin and delicate to use to slash and block. It was for hiding up his sleeve and slipping between ribs when all his other weapons had been lost or taken. It was surprisingly fun, learning how to draw it from his sleeve without anyone noticing, and how to sneak up on people, even if that bit was _so_ much harder. Kíli had no idea how Nori could be so stealthy. Still, the first time he managed to sneak up on Bofur without the miner noticing had him grinning like a loon.

Then Bofur’s wide-eyed look of surprise had melted into an easy grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he relaxed, and Kíli quite suddenly noticed just how _close_ he was standing to the other dwarf. Bofur obviously hadn’t noticed, so Kíli took a subtle – he hoped – step back, and brushed the moment off by turning a proud grin on Nori, who clapped him on the shoulder and congratulated him, a wickedly sly look in his eyes that Kíli decided he didn’t _want_ to try and interpret. If Nori had noticed that Kíli had been kind of flustered by _Nori’s husband_ , then Kíli _did not want to know_. He’d like to pretend it never happened, actually. Yes, that sounded good.

When they were packing up to leave Beorn’s Kíli was quite embarrassed to realise that someone had actually _stolen his bow_ without him noticing. They had actually been able to take it, _and return it_ before he noticed. Take it, _decorate it_ , and return it. And it was beautiful. Classic dwarven geometric knot-work scrolled along both limbs, symmetrical in every detail, effortlessly complimenting the small amount of decoration it had borne before.

He just couldn’t get it out of his mind, not for a good deal of their trek through Mirkwood. It was strangely personal, and strangely touching. Someone had taken the time to do that for him without being asked, without even ‘fessing up to it so that he could _thank them_ . They weren’t getting anything out of it at all, which meant it had been done _entirely_ for him, because they – whoever they were – thought he would like it. And he did. A lot. Maybe a little bit too much. It made him blush to think about, and his stomach squirmed and his heart raced. He found himself smiling as he idly traced the patterns carved into the wood with his fingertips as they walked.

And now they were stuck in a cell in the Elvenking’s halls. Kíli’s bow had been taken, which hurt more than he was quite expecting it to, but he did still have a clever little blade tucked up his sleeve. Kíli lay back on the cot in the cell he shared with Fíli and sighed heavily. There were no guards nearby – he had checked – so he pulled the knife out of his sleeve and began to fiddle with it, practising the twists and flips that Nori had shown him.

“Where did you get that?” Fíli asked abruptly. When Kíli rolled his head to the side to look over at him, he saw his brother leaning forwards where he sat on his own cot, with wide eyes and his mouth slightly agape.

“Nori gave it to me.” Kíli told him with a shrug. “After he stole my ear cuff.”

“The one you thought you’d lost in Rivendell?” Fíli checked, and Kíli nodded. “Nori stole it?”

Kíli gave his brother a baffled look. “Didn’t you see him wearing it like a smug little shit?” He asked dryly, although he couldn’t help the fond grin tugging at his lips.

Fíli’s eyebrows shot up. “Huh. Did he give you the new ear cuffs, too?” He asked carefully.

There was something odd about Fíli’s tone. Kíli sat up to narrow his eyes at his brother, who – unfortunately – was immune to Kíli’s glare, and simply stared back expectantly. “No… I don’t know who those were from. I just found them on my bedroll.”

“Looked like Bofur’s work to me.” Fíli mused deliberately.

“I guess?” Kíli replied warily, narrowing his eyes further.

“Huh.” Fíli said again.

“ _What_?” Kíli demanded.

“No, it’s nothing.” Fíli dismissed, shaking his head and lying down.

“It’s not nothing! Why’re you going all ‘huh, huh’ over a knife and some ear cuffs?”

At that, Fíli sat up again to stare at Kíli. “Mahal _wept_ , Kee, are you _serious_?!” Kíli gave a strangled, wordless shout of frustration. “I thought you just didn’t want to talk about it, but you actually don’t know! You’re the most oblivious dwarf I’ve ever met!” Fíli exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and flopping once again onto his cot with a groan.

“Hey!” Kíli protested, but he couldn’t really argue the point when it was so obvious that Fíli had understood something that had been escaping Kíli since Rivendell. “What, Fee? What’ve I missed?” He asked urgently.

Fíli groaned again. “They’re _courting you_ , you giant idiot!”

Oh.

Oh, well… Kíli blinked dumbly at his brother as he absorbed that, thinking back over the last few months. Now that he thought about it, Fíli was right; it _was_ a bit obvious. The gifts – the knife and the ear cuffs – the displays of skill – his old ear cuff and his bow – and all that time they’d been spending with him… They’d been peacocking around him for _months_ now, and he hadn’t noticed.

Okay, he could cut himself a little slack, because in all the tales – and those one or two times some bold young dwarf had cockily tried to court the second prince of Durin’s Folk – the gifts had always been presented with pomp and circumstance, the displays of skill had been well advertised and embellished, and their intent was always clearly stated. There was also the consideration that, in _traditional_ courting, there should be at least one gift of gemstones or precious metals. But those were few and far between on their journey, so he couldn’t exactly fault Bofur and Nori for skipping that step.

“Just…” Kíli snapped out of his thoughts to focus on Fíli, who wasn’t look at him, but gazing idly up at the ceiling, his hands folded behind his head. “Let them down gently, okay, Kee? Them being our friends aside, we can’t afford strife in the company, so you can’t reject them like you rejected that lad in Ered Luin.” Fíli pointed out.

Kíli flushed. “He deserved it, he was abrâfu shaikmashâz!”

“Never said he didn’t.” Fíli agreed. “I’m just saying, be careful when you reject them, yeah?”

Finally, Kíli registered what Fíli was actually trying to say, and blushed a fierce red at the assumption his brother was making. A reasonable assumption, if Kíli hadn’t spent the last few months trying _not_ to notice how much he actually really _liked_ Nori and Bofur. He was a prince, they were a _miner_ and a _thief_ . He was just seven years past his majority, and they were almost a century older than him. They’d been happily married for longer than he’d been _alive_ , for Mahal’s sake, and Kíli had never had a proper romantic relationship in his life.

“…Kee…” Fíli said slowly, and once again, Kíli was forced to refocus on his brother, to see him propped up on his elbows, watching Kíli with wide-eyed wariness. “Are you thinking… you might _accept_ their suit?” He asked, his voice hushed with shock.

Kíli could feel the fire in his cheeks getting hotter, and he ducked his head. “Maybe.” He admitted in a small voice. “I… I _really_ like them, Fee. They’re kind of amazing, and so much fun, and they’ve never looked at me and seen something to be bartered, or some kind of prize they can flaunt if they win me. They don’t want a Prince of Erebor, they want Kíli, the elf-faced and too-tall archer.” Fíli made the grumbling noise he always made when Kíli talked about himself like that, but Kíli pressed on, not wanting to open up that can of worms. It wasn’t as though Fíli had any room to criticise his poor self-image; after all, there was a reason Fíli put so much effort into his hair and braids. “They’re so easy to be around and Bofur is so funny and Nori is really smart, and… and Durin’s bones, have you _seen_ them? Nori’s hotter than Mahal’s forge and Bofur has a smile like a mine of diamonds-!”

“ _Mahal above_ , I don’t need to hear this!” Fíli yelped. Kíli just grinned sheepishly as his brother eyed him. “…You really like them that much?” He asked, and Kíli nodded. “Okay. Just… be careful.”

“They’re not going to hurt me, Fee.” Kíli assured him.

Fíli rolled his eyes. “You can’t guarantee that, idiot, but I _meant_ -” He pressed, when Kíli opened his mouth to argue. “-that you’re a _Prince_ , and you’ve heard the same stories I have about our dad, and about how mum had to give up her place in the succession to marry him. And even if the council doesn’t make you do that, too, then Nori and Bofur would become Prince-Consorts. I can’t see either of them taking to that very well. So… so just be careful. Think it through before you make any decisions.”

Kíli nodded solemnly, but it was hard to think about things like that when the memory of Nori’s sly look and Bofur’s easy grin kept intruding on his thoughts and making him blush. Fíli scoffed at him, and muttered something that sounded like ‘hopeless’, but Kíli ignored him, and tried not to beam like a moonstruck moron.

* * *

Erebor’s grand treasury was magnificent, even if it was a total mess. Dragons didn’t care much for organisation, and the great heaping piles of gold and jewels were haphazard at best, and outright dangerous at worst. Thorin had set them to combing through the entire place for the Arkenstone, which Nori privately thought was a waste of bloody time, but one didn’t argue with the King in his own hall, and either way, it gave him a chance to go through the stuff and examine anything that caught his eye.

A sudden shout of glee caught his attention, and he turned to see the two princes tobogganing down a small mountain of jewels on a large steel shield. Brilliant gemstones flew up in their wake in a glittering wave, but for all of Nori’s propensity to admire shining, glittering things that didn’t rightly belong to him, it was the wildfire in Kíli’s eyes that held his attention.

Out of everything in the world, that gleeful reckless abandon in the youngest prince was the only thing that had ever made Nori consider suggesting he and Bofur court another. He’d considered it a minor miracle that he’d successfully managed to woo the miner, because for all that he knew he had looks enough to turn heads, that was the only thing that ever seemed to endear him to anyone. Good for a quick tumble, but too flighty, too wild, too vicious for anything else.

Bofur hadn’t thought so, though, but he was one of a kind. Nori had never known anyone quite so effortlessly kind and optimistic before or since, and he’d never, for a moment, considered there might be anything else he desired. Until Kíli. The one thing Bofur couldn’t do was match that thing in Nori that longed for a challenge, the thing that made him steal even when he no longer needed to. The thing that had him taunting Dwalin left, right, and centre just for the thrill of being chased by the best guardsman in Thorin’s Halls. Bofur was, at heart, a homely and simple dwarf, and Nori, for all that he loved that he could always relax and settle down with him, couldn’t stay that way for long before he got itchy feet again.

Kíli could match that. Kíli was wild enough that he would meet Nori every step of the way, and revel in the mischief, in the adventure of it. Some of that Nori did have to attribute to his youth, and he knew it would temper with time, but some of it was just part of what made him _Kíli_ , and Nori found that he was actually anticipating watching Kíli grow into himself. He wanted to see how that youthful recklessness would settle. Would it make him a warrior of great renown, or would it draw him more towards travel, perhaps as a diplomat or to establish trade routes? Would the reclamation of Erebor just be the first in a series of grand adventures Kíli would have?

Nori wanted to know. He wanted to be there every step of the way. He wanted to be there to prod him into bad ideas, and then help him get out of the consequences. He wanted to be the shadow to Kíli’s light, and make sure nothing stopped the young prince from shining. He wanted that glowing look of excitement and adoration directed at him. He just… _wanted_.

“Enchanting, ain’t he?”

Nori glanced over his shoulder at Bofur with a grin. He wasn’t sure if the same thing had drawn Bofur to Kíli, or if it was something else, but one of the things that made him want so badly was the way he could so easily picture Bofur and Kíli together. Their brilliance matched in ways he couldn’t quite explain, save for the fact that somehow, together, their natural good cheer was magnified tenfold. “Mesmerising.” Nori agreed, looking back at the princes to see them at the bottom of the golden hill, clambering off their makeshift sled while laughing so hard they had to lean on each other to stay upright.

Then Kíli caught his gaze, and his grin somehow became even more dazzling, his eyes lighting up. Fíli abruptly tugged on his hair, and within moments Kíli was thoroughly distracted wrestling with his brother. “I wrote ‘im a song.” Bofur blurted out, and Nori turned with his eyebrows raised. Bofur scratched at his cheek, endearingly bashful. “S’not great, was hoping you’d read it over ‘fore I do anythin’ embarrassin’ like sing it to ‘im, y’know?”

Nori leaned over to kiss the idiot quiet. “Sure, ‘though we all know ye’ve got more musical skill than me.” He said as he drew back. “So ‘less yer gonna ask _Fíli_ fer input, I doubt yer gonna get any helpful critique.”

Bofur blanched. “Are you mad?!” He yelped, and Nori snickered. Bofur shoved him in revenge, then kissed him, a quick brush of lips on lips. “Here, look it over when you’ve got a spare minute, buntanut, although with the way ‘is majesty’s been goin’ on, we might not have many of those ‘til the bloody Arkenstone is found.” He said, slipping a folded scrap of parchment into Nori’s pocket.

Nori snorted. “Better way t’find it would be t’go through this mess and _sort it_ , ‘stead of jus’ scattering it about even worse.” He muttered under his breath, because even he knew better than to question their king _too_ loudly.

“Is tha’ why your pockets are full of everythin’ _but_ the Arkenstone?” Bofur asked laughingly.

Nori shrugged, unrepentant. “What can I say, I liked ‘em.”

“Y’know it’s not really stealin’, don’t you?” Bofur asked as he started to pick through another little pile of jewels spilling out of an ornate chest. Nori joined him, tossing aside clusters of emeralds and strings of pearls with disinterest. As he was unearthing something that gleamed like fire under the light of their torches, he caught the sounds of someone wading through coins towards them. Bofur prattled on, oblivious; “Cause a fourteenth of all this is already yours, so-”

“Shh, yer taking all the magic out of it, Bo.” Nori interrupted, making Bofur laugh loudly.

“All the magic out of what?” Kíli asked, and Nori grinned widely. He finally tugged his prize out of the chest, and shared a look with Bofur. He could see in Bofur’s eyes that they were thinking the same thing. Turning, he deftly swung the necklace he’d unearthed around Kili’s neck; stepping around him and swinging one arm over his head so that he could drape the flawless trilliant cut ruby against Kíli’s chest. It was the size of a walnut, rich red and reflecting the torchlight so brilliantly it seemed to be on fire inside, hanging on a thick chain of red and yellow gold woven together in angular knot-work.

“Stealing yer courting gift.” Nori informed him as he fastened the clasp with nimble fingers and slid his hands over Kíli’s shoulders and down to his upper arms.

He heard Kíli draw in a sharp breath, and watched over the prince’s shoulder as his hand flew to the gem and he lifted it to eye level so that he could inspect it. “Oh…” He sighed, and Nori momentarily mourned the fact he couldn’t see what expression he was wearing in that moment. The look of wonder mixed with beaming hope on Bofur’s face gave him a good indication though. “It’s…” Kíli stopped, turned his head just enough to catch a glimpse of Nori out of the corner of his eye, and Nori saw he was blushing fiercely. “It’s a ruby.” He said quietly.

“Aye.” Nori agreed, smiling sharply. “Suits ya, it does. Suits _us_.” He said, and Kili’s blush turned his face nearly as red as the ruby in his hand.

“Fierce, passionate love.” Bofur interjected, stepping closer until the two of them were bracketing Kíli between them, Kíli’s hand hovering between his and Bofur’s chins, the ruby held lightly between his fingers. “The royal gem. Courage an’ vitality; unfailin’ excellence.”

“ _Mahal’s forge_ …” Kíli breathed the curse so softly it was nearly inaudible, but they were standing close enough that they caught it, and Nori could feel a grin spreading across his face to match the one blooming on Bofur’s.

Said dwarf lifted a hand to dust a scarred and calloused knuckle down Kíli’s cheek, and the prince leaned into the touch, although the movement was absent, as if he was too dazed to think about it properly. “I’ll dig you up somethin’ to match when we get the mines here reopened.” Bofur murmured, his fingers moving to Kíli’s ear, to tug lightly at the simple steel studs he wore there. “Have a couple of rubies made into earrings for my baraz’ibin, yeah? Can’t cut ‘em m’self o’course, but-”

Bofur didn’t get to finish that thought, because Kíli surged forwards and kissed him. He dropped the ruby back onto his chest, and used that hand to grab Bofur’s collar, holding him fast, not that he was planning on going anywhere. Nori hummed a quiet approval as Bofur recovered from the momentary surprise, and curled his hand around Kíli’s neck, slipping it under the wild, unbraided tumble of his hair. Nori, not one to be left out of proceedings, leaned in and nudged the brown locks out of the way with his nose so that he could press a kiss to the soft skin behind Kíli’s ear, the side of his cheek brushing the tips of Bofur’s fingers.

Kíli made a high, whining noise, and the hand that wasn’t fisted in Bofur’s tunic fumbled behind him until Nori noticed and caught the wandering hand in his own, at which point Kíli immediately laced their fingers together and squeezed. After a moment, Kíli broke the kiss with Bofur to turn his head as far to the side as he could and give Nori a beseeching look. There was no way in this life or the next that Nori could deny that face right now – although the idea of doing so later, when he had plenty of time to tease the prince into a complete frenzy, was one that set a fire in his blood – so he tilted his face and met Kíli’s mouth in a kiss made clumsy by the angle and Kíli’s inexperience.

“ _Mahal_ , Nori!” Kíli huffed against his lips. “This is a _terrible_ idea, even I know this is a terrible idea.” He declared breathlessly, but in direct contradiction to his words, his mouth continued to seek out Nori’s.

“Oh, we know.” Bofur assured him, nuzzling affectionately at Kíli’s cheek.

“I love terrible ideas.” Nori pointed out, nipping at Kíli’s lovely bottom lip, before pressing his forehead against Kíli’s temple.

“So, what d’you say; are you willin’ to give us two poor ol’ dwarrow a chance?” Bofur asked, mirroring Nori’s gesture, pressing his own forehead to Kíli’s other temple. There was a moment of silence and stillness between the three of them, and despite everything indicating that Kíli was not going to reject them, Nori still found his breath hitching a little with nerves. Kíli felt so _right_ here between them, and Nori wasn’t sure he could bear to lose it now that he knew what it felt like to have it.

Kíli made a small noise in the back of his throat, a sound of impatience and playful frustration. “ _Of course_ I am. Jeez!” He huffed. Nori couldn’t help but laugh, and soon enough, Kíli and Bofur were joining in. Right then, Nori knew that he didn’t care what the future brought; if he could come home to this afterwards, he could face anything. Dragons, the life of a Prince-Consort, Thorin’s disapproval; it was all inconsequential compared to the perfection of holding these two dwarrow in his arms, and knowing that they were his, just as he was theirs.

* * *

Thorin had not expected to wake after he had made his peace with Bilbo. He certainly hadn’t expected to wake to the sight of a dim tent with Bofur hovering a little off to his right. The miner was wringing his hat in his hands, his braids and moustache drooping under the weight of battlefield muck he hadn’t bothered to clean out of them. He wasn’t the _last_ person Thorin expected to see at his bedside – that honour went to Thranduil – but there were at least two handfuls of people he expected to see more than Bofur. Dáin, Óin, Bilbo, or Balin, to name a few.

It took him a good few minutes to register that Bofur wasn’t hovering at _his_ bedside, but was standing with his side towards Thorin, all his attention focused on the pallet set perpendicular to Thorin’s. All Thorin could see of the occupant was a wild mess of dark brown hair, but that was enough. _Kíli_.

Thorin closed his eyes against the sharp stab of guilt the sight sent through him, then gritted his teeth against a groan, as something in his torso pulled and a different sort of pain lanced through him. He wasn’t as successful keeping quiet as he would have liked, and a moment later he heard Bofur say “Thorin?! Er… Your majesty?”

Thorin snorted, then winced again. “Just Thorin, Bofur. I’m not going to insist on formalities among our Company.” He rasped out, and was alarmed at how dry and croaky he sounded.

“Right!” Bofur exclaimed, leaping over to a table and fumbling with a pitcher to pour Thorin a cup of water. “Here, drink some of this, an’ then I’ll go fetch Óin. Ach, Bilbo’ll be upset he wasn’t here, he _jus’_ left t’go an’ get ‘imself somethin’ to eat.” He rambled, his voice a little frantic. Even so, his hands were steady as they helped Thorin lift his head and tipped the cup so he could drink, a little sip at a time.

“Bofur-” Thorin said, when his throat didn’t hurt so much when he spoke.

Bofur withdrew the cup. Thorin noticed that his hat was back on his head, sitting haphazard where he’d shoved it on in a hurry to free his hands, and he was now clutching at the cup instead of worrying at fabric. “You scared the life outta us, if you don’t mind me sayin’, you an’- an’ the boys.” He added, looking across Thorin towards the pallet he’d been hovering by, and it’s twin, which bore a tangled mess of blonde hair to match the brown on the first. Fíli would be _horrified_ to see his hair in such a state.

“Bofur-” Thorin tried again, around the sudden tightness in his throat.

“But Óin says you’re all stable for now, so the best we can do is wait an’ hope…” For a moment, something utterly lost shone through in his eyes, but then he shook himself and turned to Thorin with a bright, and obviously forced, grin. “But! You’re awake! An’ tha’s good news!” He blurted out. “Right! I was goin’ to tell Óin, he’ll want to check you over, an’ probably yell at you some. Sorry ‘bout tha’, but-”

“Bofur!” Thorin yelled, then coughed as it scratched his throat, and _then_ bit down on his lip so hard he tasted blood when his coughing caused pain to explode in his abdomen.

“Sorry, sorry!” Bofur exclaimed. “You were tryin’ to say something an’ here I am witterin’ on an’ not lettin’ you get a word in edgeways- Sorry, doin’ it again.” He clamped his mouth shut and stared at Thorin with wide, worried eyes.

Thorin screwed his eyes shut and tried to marshal his thoughts. “How are they?” He asked quietly.

Bofur remained silent for several long, painful seconds, and Thorin opened his eyes again to see him looking solemn and sad. It didn’t sit right on his usually cheerful face. “They’re not dyin’.” He said finally, far more subdued than his frantic worry of a moment before. “But Óin won’t say for sure tha’ they’re gettin’ any better, either. Fíli’s lung collapsed, apparently, but the elven healers did somethin’ strange with a tube and he’s breathin’ okay now so I guess it worked. An’ he broke ‘is sword arm, several ribs, an’ both ‘is legs, but those’re healin’ as well as expected. Kíli-” Bofur’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat before he went on, his eyes suddenly shiny with unshed tears. “His head got pretty badly knocked about, an’ he was- was bleeding inside ‘is brain, which goin’ by the way the elves were goin’ all frantic, is actually _worse_ than it sounds.”

Thorin had to choke back a sob, and he was a little surprised to see that Bofur was in no better state. He clumsily put the cup still half full of water down so that he could wipe his eyes on his sleeve. “But he’s not dying, you said?” Thorin pressed, his voice made hoarse and thin with emotion.

Bofur looked kind of helpless at that question, and Thorin suddenly found that there wasn’t enough air in the tent. “They fixed ‘is head up wi- with a lot of singin’ an’ glowin’ an’ weird elvish nonsense, but he hasn’t woken up yet, an’… an’ they said he- he might not. Wake up, tha’ is. E-ever again.” Bofur made a choked sound and covered his mouth with his hand, eyes screwed tight shut, and tears seeping out of the corners despite his best efforts. Thorin could feel tears stinging at his own eyes, but he couldn’t find the energy in him to do so much as _blink_. He just stared at Bofur, unwilling to accept it but unable to deny it as the truth began to sink in. After swallowing several times, Bofur jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the entrance to the tent and rasped out “Óin.” by way of an explanation before he fled.

Thorin was left alone in the tent, save for the slumbering forms of his nephews and his own terrible fear and guilt. Each second dragged out into an eternity, and each eternity weighed heavier on him than the last, until he was all but gasping for breath around the tightness in his chest. Each breath in caused pain to flare in places he vaguely remembered being cut or stabbed, and each breath out stuttered and shook and sent tears cascading down the sides of his face and into his hair. They were far too weak to be called sobs, but that’s what they were trying to be.

The tent flap was pushed aside, and Thorin tried in vain to get a grip on himself before Óin saw him _crying_. But it wasn’t Óin, it was Bilbo, followed by Nori. Both looked as though they hadn’t slept for a week, Bilbo with dark half-moons under his eyes, and Nori with his hair out of it’s usual points. He looked a lot smaller without his flamboyant hairstyle and cocky attitude. They were both carrying trays burdened with bowls and mugs and a little pile of wafers.

Bilbo nearly dropped his when he realised Thorin was awake. “You’re awake!” He breathed, fumbled with the tray, and then all but flung it onto the table with the pitcher on as he darted to Thorin’s bedside. “Oh, thank the Valar, you’re _awake_! How are you feeling? Does anything hurt? Oh, silly question, of course you’re hurting, I should-”

Thorin managed a faint smile. “Yes, it hurts, but not badly.”

“Bo’s gone t’get Óin, has he?” Nori asked, slumping up to stand at Bilbo’s shoulder. Thorin nodded, frowning faintly at the thief. He looked more than just a bit deflated and tired. There was a lost, wild look in his eye like a rabbit seconds away from bolting into the underbrush. He didn’t flee, though, just muttered an acknowledgement to Thorin, then retreated to a corner of the tent to sit perched on a stool and slurp his own bowl of what smelled like a hearty soup. It was, Thorin noticed, a position that left him mostly in shadow, but gave him an unimpeded view of Fíli, Kíli, and the entrance.

Thorin attempted to sit up, and was rewarded by a bright flare of pain in his chest, and a gentle but surprisingly firm hobbity hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down. “Don’t you _dare_ , Thorin Oakenshield! Not until Óin’s had a look at you, at least, and even then, only if he says it’s okay.”

“I need to-” Thorin began.

“No. No, you do not ‘need to’ anything at all!” Bilbo huffed. “You’re _wounded_ , and you are going to _rest_ and _recover_ before you start trying to carry the weight of the world again, so help me Mahal!” The dwarven oath, falling so easily from Bilbo’s mouth, startled Thorin enough to make him relax under Bilbo’s hand, much to the hobbit’s surprise. “Everyone has everything well in hand, I’ll have you know. Dáin has stepped up as regent while you and the two rascals recover, and he and Balin are making quick work of keeping all the dwarrow organised and Thranduil un-offended.”

“That’s possible?” Thorin grumbled.

Bilbo gave him a dryly chiding look. “Amazingly? Yes.”

“But Fíli and Kíli…” Thorin tried, changing the subject, and trying to sit up again.

“Are being looked after.” Bilbo interjected quickly. Thorin gritted his teeth, but when he met Bilbo’s eyes, he saw a deep worry and compassion, rather than any of the impatience or exasperation of earlier. “I promise you, Thorin, they’re in the best of hands.”

“Bofur said-…” Thorin began, but he couldn’t make himself say the rest of the words.

Nori gave a small sound of resignation and pain, like he knew it must have hurt Bofur to relay the boys’ conditions to Thorin. “Yes.” Bilbo agreed, and his voice shook a little on the word. But he pulled himself up and there was determination in his gaze and the set of his shoulders as he went on. “But they’re strong lads – stubborn, hard-headed, reckless, brave, and strong, just like their fool of an uncle – and they’ll pull through. I’m quite sure of it.”

Thorin was glad of Bilbo’s confidence. It helped, even if his fear was still nearly overwhelming. In his mind, he started reciting an ancient prayer of healing to Mahal. He was surprised to hear it echoed by Nori, under his breath and in Khuzdul, despite the taboo of speaking such above ground and in front of Bilbo. He decided he didn’t care in time to join in with the last few lines. He caught Nori’s eyes across the tent, a little puzzled by the depths of the dwarf’s care, but grateful all the same. Nori met his gaze for a moment, then dropped it, looking instead at his hands as he abandoned his food mostly uneaten, and pulled out a knife to fiddle with instead. His hands were shaking, and he dropped it more often than Thorin had ever seen before.

It wasn’t long after that when Óin came bustling into the tent, followed by two elves – one in robes and the other in leathers – and Bofur. The miner immediately crossed the room to stand by his husband, putting an arm around his shoulders and muttering something that had Nori dropping his head against Bofur’s stomach. Whatever it was he said had been completely drowned out by Óin, yelling an admonishment at Thorin for moving about so much, but Thorin was fairly sure that he’d heard Kíli’s name in between Óin’s yelling.

Unfortunately, after Óin had finished poking and prodding him and deemed him fit to eat, Thorin had fallen straight back to sleep without time to interrogate Bofur or Nori on their strange behaviour. He had managed to keep his eyes open just long enough to see the two elves tending to Fíli and Kíli, the one in robes obviously in charge and bossing both their companion _and_ Bofur and Nori around as they worked. Then exhaustion claimed him, the warm soup in his belly and the painkillers Óin had dosed him with giving him little choice in the matter.

When he woke again, it was dark, and he was surprisingly unsurprised – and yet growing more and more certain in his suspicions – to see that both Bofur and Nori were still at Kíli’s bedside. They were sitting shoulder to shoulder, leaning on each other, with their hands clasped together between them, watching the young lad with weary intensity that suggested they’d been doing little else for a good long while.

All of the questions Thorin had been planning to ask, all of the stern warnings he’d considered giving, flew from his mind at the picture they painted. There was no point asking after their intentions when they were wearing their hearts plain as anything on their faces, and it would be cruel to make any promises for the future – be they threats or blessings – when their future, _Kíli’s_ future, was so uncertain. Instead, he closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep. It was still dark, and he _was_ exhausted.

As he was drifting towards sleep, he heard Bofur start to sing, his usually lively voice tempered into something mellow and sweet. It was a song, Thorin realised with a touch of surprise, written specifically for Kíli, speaking of wildfire in earthen eyes, and a laugh like a merry little river, and a brilliant and beautiful heart that had totally ensnared two undeserving dwarrow. Thorin had always known, of course, that he wouldn’t deny Kíli his heart, even if it settled with someone others might view as unsuitable for an heir of Durin’s Line. But in that moment, Thorin was convinced that if Kíli returned their affections, Nori and Bofur would have more than just his acceptance, they would have his blessings.

* * *

Fíli had been dozing fitfully when a small pained noise wrenched him back to wakefulness with all the gentleness of a rampaging oliphaunt. For a moment, he lay there feeling dazed, wondering what exactly had woken him with such a start. It was not the first time he’d woken since the battle, but the other times had been slow, hazy ascents into the waking world, and he was usually greeted with water, a healer – sometimes it was Óin, sometimes it was the elf – and food. This time, there was none of that, and Fíli’s mind was still enough fogged with sleep that it took him a moment to orient himself.

Then he heard a familiar, and deeply relieved voice crying “Kíli!” and he turned his head fast enough that it hurt his neck and left him dizzy. He didn’t care though, because it was worth that and more for the sight of his little brother peeling his eyes open and screwing up his face in discomfort. At his side, Nori was hovering over him, eyes wide and frantic with hope. He still managed to keep his voice gentle, if strained, when he spoke. “C’mon, hulwultarg, time t’wake up now. Ya gave us all a righ’ scare, yanno, so jus’ open yer eyes and let us know yer alrigh’, okay?”

“Nnrrr…” Kíli replied eloquently.

It wasn’t until Nori elbowed the dark lump beside him that Fíli realised it was Bofur. The miner had fallen asleep sitting at Kíli’s bedside, his arms folded on the covers next to Kíli’s hip and his head nestled behind them. He sat up with a jolt, his hat all but hanging off his head and obscuring one eye. “Whu-?” He asked, blinking blearily at Nori, who just jerked his chin at Kíli, who was sticking his tongue out in a way Fíli recognised as meaning ‘my mouth tastes like something crawled under my tongue and died’.

“Ach, Mahal maharuma!” Bofur breathed, a smile starting to spread across his face, even as Fíli thought he saw a couple of tears escape from the corners of his eyes. “Kili, marlel? How’re you feelin’, baraz’ibinê?”

“ _Guh_.” Kíli declared emphatically.

Bofur laughed, sounding bright and helpless and wet with tears. “Ach, hulwultarg, amrâlulûn…” He sighed happily, dropping his head onto Nori’s shoulder, every single inch of him going limp with relief. Kíli shifted under the blanket, then whimpered, then groaned. A moment later, he relaxed, and Fíli saw Nori lift Kíli’s hand into view, holding it in both of his own.

“Gonna need a li’l bit more t’go on than ‘guh’, Kee.” Nori said through a grin of his own. “Unless ye’d rather we got Óin right away, and let _him_ interrogate ya.”

It took Kíli a moment, but eventually, he managed to communicate in actual words. “Head… hurts.” He said carefully, voice strained. “Face hurts… v’rythin’… _hurts_. Water?” The last word came out plaintive and hopeful, and Bofur nearly fell over himself as he scrambled to oblige the request.

“Bo’s gone t’get ya some. M’not surprised yer everyfing hurts; ya got yerself pretty bashed about by Bolg a’fore tha’ elf prince and ‘is guard-lady got there. Did yer fair share of bashing about, too, though. Wish I’d been there t’see tha’, hulwultarg, bet ya were magnificent.” Nori rambled soothingly, bringing Kíli’s hand up to his lips to kiss his knuckles.

Kíli managed a wobbly little smile of pride, and then Bofur was back, and blocking Fíli’s view of Kíli as he settled between the two pallets. “Now, your goin’ to have to be real patient for a bit, ghivashê, cause the healer was very insistent that we don’t move your head about if we can help it.” Kíli gave a grunt of understanding, and managed to be very patient indeed as Bofur carefully fed him sips of water one little bit at a time. After so long of this that Fíli nearly fell back to sleep, Kíli made a protesting sound and Bofur leaned back at once.

“Fee?” Kíli managed after a while, sounding for all the world like he was twenty-five again, and crawling into Fíli’s bed in the middle of the night because he’d been having scary dreams.

“He’s right over here, hulwultarg, right-” Bofur began, turning towards Fíli and shifting backwards so Kíli could see him. He cut himself off when he realised Fíli was awake, and went a little pink in the face, but Fíli was barely paying any attention to him anymore.

“Hey there, Kee.” He whispered, squirming a hand out from under the blanket and holding it out to Kíli. Kíli did the same, although he winced as he shifted to grab at Fíli’s fingers. Feeling the warmth of his brother’s skin, and the strength in his grip, brought tears to Fíli’s eyes, and he didn’t bother to try and hold them back, letting them slide over the bridge of his nose and down his temple into his hair. “Bout time you woke up, you lazy jerk.” He said thickly.

Kíli grinned, lopsided and more than a little hazy with pain. Then he blinked and squinted up at the ceiling of the tent. “H’w long’s it… been?” He asked finally. “S’nce…” He paused, and wiggled the hand holding Fíli’s like he wanted to flap it about in the air, but didn’t want to let go of Fíli’s hand long enough. “...battle?”

“Uh…”Fili said, realising abruptly that he didn’t actually know the answer to that. He might have woken up before Kíli, and had several conversation with people that had probably included dates and times and how long it had been since such-and-such, but he’d been sleeping whole days away, still, and he couldn’t say for sure when it was. “Least a week, I think?”

“Firteen days, give or take a couple of ‘ours.” Nori said quietly.

Kíli went very still, made an unhappy sound, then squeezed Nori’s hand. “Hey… M’up now, stop… w’th’… _eyes_.” He slurred, wiggling the hand that was holding Nori’s in the same way he’d wiggled Fíli’s a moment before. “M’kay. Y’r’kay. Bo’s’kay. S’all… okay.” He stopped, frowning. “’Ncle?”

“Oh, that’s one’s just _fine_ , it’s you two who’ve been causing us all no end of grief!” That voice was new, and Fíli turned to see that Óin, an elven healer, and Bofur were stepping into the tent. Fíli wondered when the hell Bofur had left, and whether he’d hitched a ride on Beorn to fetch Óin so fast. “Out of my way, out of my way!” Óin instructed, shooing Nori away from Kíli, who whined at the loss of contact.

“We’re right here, amrâlulûn, we’re not goin’ anywhere, I promise, baraz’ibinê.” Bofur assured him from where he and Nori were hovering together, one of Nori’s arms looped around Bofur’s waist.

“You’re lucky Balin isn’t here to whack you for not minding your language.” Óin grumbled, and Bofur blushed brilliantly and pulled the brim of his hat down over his eyes. Fíli snickered, and Kíli started to grin as well when Nori muttered something very crude about their elven guest in Khuzdul. “Aye, well, there is that.” Óin agreed grumpily, as his hands were forcibly removed from Kíli’s head by the elven healer, who replaced them with their own and began to chant in their strange, birdsong language.

Fíli watched this for a few seconds, his breath catching a little when Kíli’s eyes went glazed and distant. But then he sighed in uninhibited relief and his hand stopped trembling faintly where it held Fíli’s still. “Mmn… thanks.” He mumbled. The elf – rude creature that they were – ignored him completely.

“Kíli?!”

Fíli tipped his head back to see Thorin propped up on his elbow, eyes wide and carrying a mixture of relief and worry. He shoved the sheets off himself and swung his legs out of bed. “Oh no you don’t, laddie!” Óin roared, storming over to Thorin. “You get yourself back into bed before you pull your stitches!”

“I’ll get back into bed once I’ve seen my nephew!” Thorin roared right back, and shoved his way past Óin, who didn’t seem to want to attempt forcibly restraining him. He muttered under his breath about stubborn kings – louder than Fíli suspected he meant to – and how he wished Bilbo was there because Thorin always seemed to behave for _him_. Thorin stepped up behind the kneeling elf and smiled down at his nephew. “Kili?”

“Uncle.” Kíli replied cheerfully. “Glad you’re okay.”

Thorin snorted at that. “I was far more worried about you, my boy.” He said, half chiding, half fond. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” Kíli declared. “Whatever- um, sorry, I don’t know your name?” He said, redirecting his words towards the elf who paused in their chanting to stare at him in surprise.

“Círphen.” The elf said after a pause.

Kíli smiled and nodded, then winced. The elf clicked their tongue at him in disapproval, then went back to their chanting. “Whatever Círphen’s doing has… stopped m’head hurting. Mostly. Still feel kinda… woozy, though. An’xhausted.”

“Don’t go falling back to sleep yet.” Óin instructed loudly. “We need to get some solid food in you first.” Kíli’s stomach growled loudly in response to that, and Kíli grinned without shame as Bofur burst out laughing.

“Nothing too heavy.” Círphen chided, glaring at Óin. “Head wounds such as this can upset the stomach. It would do him no good to eat only to throw it all back up half an hour later.”

“I _have_ treated bumps on the head before, y’know!” Óin snapped back. “And we dwarves aren’t as delicate as you tree-shaggers. We’ve got good, sturdy skulls.”

“I am familiar with the thick-headedness of dwarves, yes.” Círphen replied archly. However, before Óin could start yelling again, some of the ire left him, and his next words were professional. “It is lucky that he is a dwarf, for an elf would be very unlikely to make as complete a recovery as he seems to be making. A human would most probably have died.”

Fíli felt his breath desert him at that. Thorin went pale, and a little further off, Fíli heard Bofur say, rather faintly; “Think I need to si’down for a moment.”

Kíli’s brow crumpled in apologetic worry, and he snorted softly. His eyes went all soulful when he focused on Bofur, now sitting on the ground, and Nori, standing behind him and leaning against him a little. Fíli rolled his eyes at his diamond-eyed idiot of a brother. “C’mon, you all know I’ve got a… a harder head’n most.” He teased gently. Bofur beamed at him, helplessly besotted, while Nori just raised an eyebrow and tried not to smirk too noticeably. “I’ll be back to normal in no time.”

* * *

Dáin had heard, of course, that his cousins were all awake and recovering, but it was one thing to hear from Balin that it was so, and quite another to walk into the royal tent and see all three of them sat up and conversing cheerfully with the hobbit and a handful of the dwarves from the Company. He paused just inside, watching the scene with a fond grin.

Thorin was arguing with Dwalin, both of them with their jaws set stubbornly, while the wee hobbit perched on the edge of Thorin’s bed – and wasn’t _that_ interesting – pointedly ignoring the argument going on over his head as he chatted with the miner with the impressive moustache. Bofur, Dáin remembered after a moment’s thought. Balin’s apprentice, Ori, was sitting between the two princes’ beds, writing a letter that Fíli was dictating to him – to Dís, Dáin realised after a moment of listening – given his lead arm was still in a sling. Kíli was primarily involving himself in the conversation between Bilbo and Bofur, but every now and then something Fíli said would catch his attention, and he’d interject with his own comments for Ori to add to the letter.

“Well, it looks like a proper party in here.” Dáin commented, and immediately had the attention of everyone in the tent.

“Dáin!” Fíli and Kíli exclaimed in unison, both of them grinning.

“Cousin.” Thorin added, his smile smaller and more rueful, but no less genuine.

The hobbit, meanwhile, scoffed. “If it were a party, there would be a lot more food and music, I should think. Speaking of, Dwalin, come help me fetch everyone’s lunch.” He declared, hopping off the bed, giving Thorin’s hand a quick pat, and heading out of the tent. He bobbed his head to Dáin as he passed politely, and Dáin rolled his eyes in response. He’d tried to convince Bilbo that he didn’t need to bow to him, but while he’d stopped trying to mimic Dáin’s soldiers, he still couldn’t let go of propriety entirely.

Grumbling, Dwalin followed after Bilbo, shooting one last glare over his shoulder at Thorin before he went. Dáin snorted and went to take Dwalin’s place beside Thorin’s sickbed, although he did stop to tousle Fíli and Kíli’s hair as he passed them. Kíli just grinned, but Fíli – predictably – yelped and scowled and tried to protect his braids. “Good to see the lads awake and causing trouble again.” Dáin remarked as he flopped unceremoniously into the chair beside Thorin’s bed.

“You’d think being confined to their beds would stop them getting up to mischief.” Thorin said dryly, shooting an unimpressed look over at his nephews.

“Hey!” Fíli protested. “We’ve been good!”

“Ori! Bofur! Tell him we’ve been good!” Kíli pleaded.

“Don’t put me in the middle of this!” Ori protested, his face going red.

“You’ve been very good, marlel, an’ Nori’s terribly disappointed about tha’.” Bofur remarked through a cheerful grin.

“I’m _sure_ he _is_.” Thorin drawled, and Dáin watched with a laugh building in his chest as Bofur’s eyes suddenly widened and his face paled. Kíli was not much better, his shoulders coming up as he bit his lip and tried for an endearing smile in his uncle’s direction.

“Oho?” Dáin chortled, looking between Kíli and Thorin. “What’s this, now?”

“Well…” Kíli began, drawing the word out.

Thorin interrupted him. “Bofur and his husband Nori have been courting Kíli during our journey. I’m not sure when, exactly, Kíli accepted them, but I _am_ quite sure that I have not been approached by any of them for my blessings.”

“Tha’ is… y’see…” Bofur stammered. “We were waitin’ for things to calm down a bit, so tha’ we could, y’know, do things proper like.” He explained sheepishly.

Dáin burst out laughing. “Ach, ye can’t complain about that, Thorin! Even if no one in our family’s cared about proper for a couple o’hundred years or so!” He snorted, still shaking with mirth. Thorin threw a pillow at him. “Thankin’ ye muchly.” Dáin told him as he caught the pillow and slung it between his back and the back of the chair.

“Quite.” Thorin announced. “Although, I’d think, if you were so concerned about what’s proper, Bofur, it’s certainly not proper for you to be in the same room as my nephew when he’s barely dressed _before_ I’ve given my blessings.” He pointed out, which Bofur didn’t seem to know what to do with. He sat frozen with his mouth half open as if to protest. Kíli had no such problems, however.

“Uncle!” Kíli protested. “You wouldn’t send them away! I won’t let you!”

Dáin snorted, and Thorin rolled his eyes. “Peace, nephew, of course I wouldn’t.” Thorin huffed. “You know full well I wouldn’t deny you your heart now that you’ve found them. Of course you have my blessings.” Kíli blinked, then beamed. Bofur was still gaping at Thorin in confusion when Kíli turned to him and hugged him.

“Thank you, your maje-”

“Bofur.” Thorin interrupted.

“Er, Thorin. Thank you, Thorin, sir.” Bofur corrected, and then he was distracted when Kíli pulled on his braid until Bofur turned his head to him, at which point Kíli kissed him.

Thorin shot Dáin a long-suffering look that made Dáin chuckle again. “Well, at least ye won’t have as much trouble this time as ye did with Dís, eh?” He offered wryly. “Low born they might be, but they’ll have enough standing now Erebor’s reclaimed and once they’ve been paid for their services that the council can hardly object.”

“If they do, I’ll make Bofur a Lord. That’ll shut them up.” Thorin declared stoutly.

“Don’t you dare!” Bofur yelped, pulling away from Kíli to give Thorin a horrified look.

“You’re going to be a Prince-Consort anyway.” Kíli pointed out, slightly disgruntled.

Bofur groaned, and buried his face in Kili’s neck. “Ugh, don’t remind me, hulwultarg. I’ll do it, for you, but don’t expect me t’be happy about it.”

“Aye, an’ I’ll head-butt anyone with a problem with it. Again.” Dáin said to Thorin, a hint of vicious anticipation in his eyes. “O’course, that’d have to be after your lovely sister gets finished with them.” He added cheerfully, stacking his hands behind his head. “That’d be a sight and a half.”

“Oh, aye.” Thorin agreed with dark humour.

“What’d be a sight and an ‘alf?” Nori asked, startling Dáin as he popped up beside Bofur without any sign of his entry into the tent. Bofur pressed a quick kiss to Nori’s palm in greeting, apparently used to his husband just appearing somewhere without making the least bit of noise.

“Mum fighting the council about my right to marry you two.” Kíli informed him cheerfully. “C’mere, amrâlimê.” He implored, and Nori obeyed with a smirk, leaning down to kiss Kíli in greeting. “Mm… Uncle’s given us his blessing, by the way.” He added.

“Good. I’d hate to ‘ave to elope wif ya, hulwultarg.” Nori remarked cheekily.

“Mum’d kill _you_ for that.” Kíli informed him, then kissed him again.


End file.
